The Last Riddle
by Clorinda
Summary: The year is 1938. I am but another girl. With one foot tangled in the vines that is the world of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Another of those insights into the life of He Who Must Not Be Named.
1. I Know Who

**The Last Riddle **

**By **Clorinda

**Rated**: PG

**Category**: Drama

**Summary**: The year is 1938. I am but another girl. With one foot tangled in the vines that is the world of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Another of those insights into the life of He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named.

**Author's Note**: If she's reading this, I want to say this fanfic owes a lot to **Amitasree Basu**, who was kind enough to point out that an OC in the draft of this, a particular "Rueben/Rodeo(don't ask) Hagrid" was particularly pointless. He was supposed to Hagrid's big brother, because I'd initially meant him to be Hagrid, but then I saw the dates were all wrong, and then I got quite lazy.

But tell me what you think of my OC-riddled story. Tom isn't too prominent, but he's always in the background, so that no one can accuse me of getting the I-Wish-I-Came-Up-With-Harry-Potter bug, and writing a story where the summary says, "Taylor Calvicci never knew she was a witch, until she got a strange letter, and went to a school called Hogwarts, and had exciting adventures there."

**

* * *

**

**Chapter One **

**I-Know-Who**

1938

"Is anyone sitting there?"

I looked up. The speaker was a petite girl with round glasses, and her hair was done up in pigtails. She was dragging a trunk behind her, and free hand held a white, fluffy ball with a wand sticking out of it.

"Not at all," I said. "Have a seat, if you like."

"Thanks," she said, coming in and sitting down. "It's full everywhere else. My name's Myrtle. Well, Marianne-Tilly actually—but no one calls me that anymore."

"Cool," I said, extending a hand. "I'm Taylor Calvicci."

Myrtle's eyes widened slightly, and she grabbed my hand. "_You're_ Taylor Calvicci? _You're_ the heir to the Castle and all those vaults of Galleons?"

"Yeah," I replied, a little self-consciously.

"What's it like, being so rich?" said Myrtle excitedly.

The girl was totally unabashed! "I dunno," I told her. "It's a little irritating, sometimes. Especially when someone's dying or something. Everyone was walking on eggshells when Uncle Geoffrey was down with food poisoning, and the Healers were afraid he wouldn't make it. They were all afraid of being cut out of the will. It's always the same story."

I suddenly felt like I had said too much, and my face glowed with anger and embarrassment. "So," I said in an attempt to change the subject, "do you like animals?"

Myrtle nodded. She gestured to the huge ball of fluff that now lay on her lap. "This," she said, "is my cat, Cassie. I tried to blow-dry her, but she ended up half-swallowing my wand."

I stared at Cassie. I couldn't believe it, you could've knocked me out with a feather. "Amazing," I croaked, in an effort to convince _myself_. "Am. Aaa. Zing."

Myrtle shrugged. "I really love animals and magical creatures of any breed—"

The door to our compartment flew open and hit the wall with a bang. A pretty big boy was standing in the doorway. And when I say _big_, I don't mean fat. I mean _biiiig_. Kind of _burly_.

"Oh," he said, a little breathlessly. "Hi, Myrtle. Err, hello, you're...?"

"Taylor," I supplied, and he reached out and shook my hand.

"Hi, Rueben," said Myrtle with a big friendly smile, tucking Cassie the cat into the steel luggage rack above her head. "I didn't know you were coming to Hogwarts."

The boy shrugged, and took a seat beside her. The two of them obviously knew each other quite well, and as Myrtle tried to bring back the topic of conversation, she lapsed away with her friend into talking excitedly about the things they used to do together and the annoying people they used to know.

Feeling a little left out, I slipped out of the compartment to take a little stroll. The corridors were empty, except for a gangly, freckled boy who looked like a prefect. I was about to ask him if he knew how much of our journey was left, when—

"Hello."

I jumped at the voice, and whirled around, my heart pounding in shock.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," the speaker apologised. He was tall and slender, about my height and age, with tousled dark hair that looked as if it had been hastily blow-dried.

"It's okay, I'm fine," I told him quickly, although my heart hadn't stopped beating so violently.

He smiled, and his slightly vampire-esque canines flashed. "Miss Calvicci, yes?"

I nodded. "Yeah, how did you know?"

He smiled again, sending the butterflies flying in my stomach. "Most Calviccis inherit the same looks— high cheekbones and red hair. You have the same." He nodded towards my robes. "Besides, it's written on your nametag. Welcome to Hogwarts, it's my first year too."

I gave a shaky laugh, amazed and impressed. "_Wow_. _The magical version of Sherlock Holmes_."

"Shecock Home _who_?" the boy said, baffled.

"_Sherlock Holmes_," I pronounced clearly. "He's a popular private investigator in Muggle fiction. Just a freelance version of a Ministry Auror— only, he's more competent."

He nodded. "You read Muggle fiction?"

I laughed. "Heck, _no_. Especially not Holmes. They're so terribly boring. My Uncle Eric and Aunt Enid — they're the only Muggles in the family — gave me a stack to read."

* * *

"When I call out your name, you will come forward and put this Hat on your head." 

I wasn't paying much attention. My brain was all fuzzed up. I suppose that grubby Sorting Hat left me in shock. It was so patchy and dirty like it had been left in the pigsty when the rain came. I had half-expected maggots to come crawling out, but for it to— _sing_? Oh, _Merlin_.

"Calvicci, Taylor," came the call.

The entire hall fell silent, and whispers buzzed like a prodded beehive. I went forward, sat down on the tinny stool, and gingerly put the Hat on.

"Mmm..." came its husky voice echoing in my cranium like my skull was an empty room. It was a creepy feeling. "What do I do? _Really_, what do I do?"

_Dunno_, I thought absently. _That's part of your job description, isn't it?_

If the Hat had a face, it probably would have grimaced. "A Calvicci, are you? Just my luck ... Where should I put someone with a mind like yours?"

_Hey_, I thought warningly. _If you _dare_ yell Slytherin, I'll personally take a pair of scissors to you_.

"Now, don't get too testy," the hat said. "I see you're best suited for RAVENCLAW! — even though one of Rowena's kind is the last to be prejudiced towards _Slytherin_."

I stared at the Hat just as it stopped speaking. I wanted to know what it meant, but I had already taken it off. Shrugging, I headed for my House table.

Sitting there, I watched all the others get Sorted into different houses. Myrtle was in Hufflepuff. That large dragon-lover — Rueben Hagrid — was in Gryffindor. And that guy I talked to earlier — whose name I just found out to be Tom Riddle — got sorted into Slytherin.

It sent a shiver up my spine.

For a brief second, my watching eyes met his , and with the small smile he gave me, my apprehension dissipated.

* * *

"It's amazing, you know," said Holly Colfer, shaking her head a little, "how someone as good-looking as that Riddle guy could be sorted into _Slytherin_ of all houses." 

"S'pose you're right," said Bridget Coningsby absently, looking up from her unpacking. "Oh, hey there, Taylor."

"Hi," I said, flopping down on my bed, feeling grossly overstuffed with dinner — especially with all that dessert.

"We were talking about—"

I sat up a little straighter, grinning at Holly. "_I_ know who. Heard the last bit." I also realised different houses wouldn't quell my liking for "I-Know-Who".


	2. Chocolàt

**Chapter Two **

**Chocolàt**

1942

"Come on, let's go," I said, as soon as the bell went.

"Where?" asked Holly, a tad confused.

I looked at her, exasperated. "Quidditch trials, remember? They were up all over the Common Room. Now hurry up, you _said_ you'd come."

"Oh," Holly said, comprehension dawning on her face. "Yeah, I remember."

Tom Riddle was also there, along with the other Slytherins, since Ravenclaw and Slytherin were having simultaneous try-outs. (The pitch was big enough ... I think.) He turned and waved to me, mouthing "Good luck!"

I smiled back. My third year at Hogwarts, and I was still ridiculously shy around him.

"Do you think we'll actually get on the team?" said Holly doubtfully.

I shrugged. "I dunno. There's room for a Chaser and a Keeper, so it's pretty hard to tell."

There was an assortment of hopefuls on our side of the pitch, and the Ravenclaw Quidditch team captain and Seeker was trying to yell for order. John deNiro — distantly related to the Muggle actor and Wizarding singing sensation Robert deNiro — was lean, blond and had a faint muscle tone.

For some reason, my pre-conceived version of a Quidditch captain was burly, dark-haired— and strangely square-jawed. Kind of like the new Gryffindor Beater Rubeus Hagrid.

"Good to see you folks," said John, once the racket subsided faintly. He had a nice, easy charm you couldn't help but like. "Okay, first we'll see you fly, and then we'll try you out with the rest of the team. Sound good? — Yeah, I thought not, waste of time."

A few people laughed. Most of them were nervous like this was an examination of some sort. "Now, seriously," said John. "We'll need a third or fourth year Chaser, but anyone who wants to try out as a Keeper _must be aware that they get Bludgers aimed at them a lot_."

"_John_!" one of the Beaters hissed. I recognised her as Midge Henri, the Ravenclaw prefect. "What are you scaring the runts off for?"

"Who's first?" said John, ignoring Midge. I volunteered, stepping forward with my broomstick. John told me to just fly around a bit first. That was fine, and mounting my Comet Two Fifty, I kicked off.

I was zooming across the sky, and it felt so wonderful, with the wind sweeping back my hair and slicing past my face ... But then, I looked down.

_Biiiig_ mistake. Bigger than Rubeus Hagrid.

I saw Tom Riddle kick off, and I couldn't help staring in admiration as he did some awesome circles in the air, as if he was tracing the sphere of the earth from pole to pole.

Down below, John kept yelling something, and a Slytherin guffawed. And then, all at once, it hit me — I was flying straight towards a stone wall!

"_YEEEEEEK!"_ I screamed, terrified. Closer ... Closer ... Faster ... In a fit of desperation, I grabbed my broom and yanked it upwards. "Aaaagh!" ... "Yaay —" _THWACK._ "— _Ugh_..." ...

* * *

"Urgh," I groaned, trying to get up. I fell back immediately, as a sharp, pounding pain erupted in my head. 

"Hey, take it easy," a male voice warned me.

I mumbled incoherently, trying to sit up. But a hand gently pushed me back down. "Don't try to move. It'll only hurt worse," he said. "Besides, Madam Wilkes will have us thrown out if you do."

I blinked, trying to clear out those purple circles that danced under my eyelids. The fuzziness took a few seconds to clear out, and I saw it was John deNiro. I felt a little stab of disappointment at the sight of his relieved smile. _Why?_ The annoying voice at the back of my head was at it again. _Who were you expecting?— Tom Riddle?_

I tried to push past that. Where _was_ I anyway?

"Us?" I said foggily.

"The Quidditch team's out there too," said John. "Everyone's obviously worried about you." He laughed, and then he looked as if he regretted it. "Sorry, it wasn't even that funny."

"What happened? And _where_ am I?"

"The infirmary." John tried to make a straight face. "See, you swung clear up and out of the way of the wall," he told me, adding with an approving grin, "which was some bloody amazing flying coming from a third-year. But then ... you slammed into the roof. Which wasn't quite so impressive.

"Actually there was another guy so distracted by you, that he slammed into a tree without looking. We had to rush the both of here. Madam Wilkes thought you two'd been fighting."

"How bad do I look?"

" Uh."

That was all he'd say.

I snorted. "It's just a roof." I grabbed the glass of water on the bedside table, and squinted at my bloated reflection. I almost fainted at the face that was so blown out of proportion. It was bruised and scraped, and every square inch of tissue had a healing cut. I put down the glass shakily.

"You really shouldn't have looked," said John belatedly.

The way my body hurt all over, I suspected it was a lot worse. A whole lot worse.

"Erm," said John uncomfortably, "did I mention you knocked yourself out cold, and fell off your broom?"

Madam Wilkes came in ten minutes later to shoo him out. "No visitors," she said quite decidedly, trying her hardest to push him out. "She needs her rest."

I heard her arguing with someone else three hours later, when I had a bandage wrapped around my skull like a bandanna and a head heavy from lying down for too long. I twitched aside the curtain to see what the commotion was going on about, and she grudgingly let my visitor in.

Tom Riddle.

"Hi," I said, straightening up and propping myself against the headboard with the pillows.

"Are you okay?" he asked, drawing a chair and sitting down beside the impossibly-white hospital bed. I nodded.

He sighed with relief. "Nasty fall, wasn't it? Here. I brought you these," He held out a box of Chocolate Frogs.

He stayed for a while, and we swapped Frog cards, and ate the chocolate while we simply ... talked. Suddenly, he seemed no more the enigmatic Slytherin boy, Riddle, that everyone talked so much about, but just the person I'd met on the train— Tom.

Finally, he stood up. "I'm sorry, but I have to go now. Quidditch practice, and the like. I'll try to come later I can ... G'bye, Taylor."

I waved to him, sad to see him go. It was already six-thirty.

Later that night, at around eight, Holly rushed in, a flurry of robes, to give me my homework. We ended up talking and giggling too much, getting annoyed looks from the other patients, and then she had to leave, because I was staying in the Hospital Wing overnight.

Tom didn't come again that day. The only evidence that he'd been there was the melting chocolate on my fingers.


	3. Third Witch

**Chapter Three **

**Third Witch **

1942

"Oh, he's _gorgeous,_" Holly sighed. Her eyes were glued across the Potions classroom.

"Go and talk to him then," I said a little irritably, trying to concentrate on our potion, since we're both nearly as bad at it as one another. "Tom sure isn't going eat you up. Watch out!— that's way too much wolfsbane."

"I thought it was monkshood," said Holly, staring at what she'd just dropped into the cauldron.

"The same thing," I said dismissively. "And the Muggles call it _aconite_."

That day, as soon as the bell rang, Holly went dashing to Tom's table, where he was still packing up his books and scales. After ten minutes of conversation, the two of them walked out together.

With a pang of jealousy, I climbed the ladder to my Divination class, which Holly and I incidentally did not share. Staring blankly into my tea leaves, I tried to find at least some of the things Professor Drine said we should be able to see, but I couldn't concentrate. My mind kept flitting to Holly and Tom; it was like a bad dream I couldn't wake up from.

Since Divination was my last class that day, I grabbed my broom and headed down to the pitch, book bag and all. John deNiro told me I'd been picked as Keeper for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team— said I looked as I could move quick and fast.

I was the first one to arrive, after Midge Henri. We talked awhile, and then the rest of the team appeared.

Quidditch took my mind off other things quite easily. It's actually a tough job to watch three large loops, all bigger in size than you, trying to block a ball that can come from any direction, especially with all those Bludgers flying everywhere too. It made me reminiscent of a Muggle sport called football.

Laughter from down below caught my attention. I glanced down to see Holly sitting on the bleachers, waving. I raised my hand to wave back, and glided down. We watched the sunset together.

* * *

"So," I said, unable to refrain any longer now. "How was it with Tom?"

Holly looked up from the essay she was doing, her mouth twitching quirkily. "He's handsome," She said it like Tom Riddle was a product she was advertising on brightly-coloured pamphlets. "He's smart, _and_ he's nice. He's a human god— _if_ that isn't understating things, of course."

I slowly raised my eyebrows. I liked Tom too, but I would _never_ go that far ...

"Who's she calling a human god?" asked Bridget Coningsby, coming in. She'd been in the library, and she carried a large stack of books to prove it.

"You're going to read all of this?" said a bright-pink Holly, staring.

"Tom Riddle," I said, grinning.

Bridget rolled her eyes, and plonked down beside us. "That just about explains everything."

* * *

Holly had been obsessed with boys in her time, and I never realised how seriously she actually liked Tom— until it came and punched me in the face.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and since Holly was swamped with overdue homework, she couldn't come with Bridget and me. I was sitting in the Three Broomsticks, sipping a large mug of Butterbeer, when I saw Tom.

He was outside, on the street, hands shoved into his pockets, head tilted to one side. I was about to call out to him, when I realised that there was someone else beside him. A blonde. Possibly that Malfoy friend of his.

I peered through the frosted window, sitting up in my seat. The greeting died in my throat.

Holly Colfer.

She reached up on her toes, and kissed his lips. With a wave she left, ponytail bouncing behind her.

* * *

And then by Monday, it was official. Holly and Tom. Tom and Holly. And the strangest thing was, they decided they liked each other seriously overnight. One day, she was crushing out on him like hell. The next day, she was dating him.

I stayed awake all night, fighting to get them out of my head. I couldn't escape that day in Hogsmeade. Tom and Holly.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, he's just another guy!" I yelled irritably.

Holly bit her lip, and her expression instantly made me recoil. "Look," I said gently. "Tom's good-looking and great and everything, but you're really driving me nuts about him. I've got classes tomorrow, I need to study."

"Guess there's a point in that," she admitted.

"So, if you don't talk about him for even a day, he won't drop down dead in his tracks." I stared at the Potions textbook open in my lap, and closed it. "I— I'm going for a walk in the castle or something." I got up, and left.

The castle seemed to be deserted, although it wasn't even time for curfew yet. There wasn't even a single ghost drifting about as I passed through the wings to my favourite refuge in the Astronomy Tower.

There was so much weighing me down that night, and I was tired and far away from the rest of Hogwarts. I sank down at the bottom of the stairs, heavy as a rock tossed into the sea.

"What're you doing _here_ in the dark?" a voice asked curiously.

I glanced up wearily. It was a sight for sore eyes— but not what I needed. "I'm a bit bummed out about something."

John deNiro sat down beside him. "Oh?"

He and I had grown close over the weeks of Quidditch practice. Not remarkably so, but we were still friends.

"Don't laugh; it's about a guy."

"I'm not laughing."

"Feh, I can _see_ you grinning. Anyway I'm getting over it,"

I mean, I _should_ be getting over it. Tom liked Holly back. End of story. But I couldn't help feeling a little, I dunno ... _betrayed_. It was unfair how Holly should get Tom, when I was the one who got to know him first.

I hadn't spoken to Tom at all since I last saw him at the Hospital Wing. Rather, _he_ hadn't spoken to _me_ since then. He'd been the one to initiate our friendship. And that was why his silence hurt me the most.


	4. Malfoy Knows

**Chapter Four **

**Malfoy Knows **

1943

"Congratulations."

I whirled around in surprise, my heart hammering furiously at the sudden voice. It was Tom. My breathing calmed down a bit.

"Oh, hi. You startled me."

"Did I?" he said with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I wanted to congratulate you on being made a prefect and all."

It was then that I noticed the shiny badge pinned to the front of his robes. Midge Henri had left Hogwarts and Britain last month, since her father who worked at the Ministry, was being transferred to Italy, of all places in Europe.

"Thanks," I said. "You too. And also for acing all your exams."

"Not Transfiguration, though," he reminded me. "That was Rita Skeeter."

"Oh yeah," I said, remembering how she got a single mark over Tom. "A mere fluke."

"Wow, you two are _early_."

It was Holly.

"Hi," I said, as she gave me a quick hug. "Had a nice holiday?"

Holly rolled her eyes. "I _wish_. My parents spent the majority of it in some French spa at Nice. I barely got any of my stuff done. Hi, Tom." She was blushing again.

He smiled in answer.

"Prefects this year, huh?" said Holly, glancing at our badges. "Have fun herding the firsties. I should be boarding the train; save you a seat, Taylor?"

"Thanks," I said, and with a wave, she went off, pulling her trunk behind her. "Erm, we should be going too," I added, not quite knowing what else to do.

This was the first time I was alone with my best friend's boyfriend like this, and Holly's graciousness made me feel horrible about my raging resentment.

* * *

We were perfects, and that inevitably meant we would be forced to work together. Forced to look one another in the eye. I tried to avoid meeting Tom too much, stick to my assignments with the others ... but hey, who was I kidding?

I never _not_ see Tom around the corner, never _not_ wait outside the staff room with him, never _not_ know he was standing right behind me.

I couldn't avoid Tom. Not even if I had really wanted to.

Sometimes I'd sit in the Common Room before the fire, surrounded by unfinished homework. I'd stare at Holly's chair and think of how much we had. Except Holly wasn't there. She was off somewhere with Tom.

Even Bridget wasn't available. Practicing Charms in a classroom.

Although nearly everyone was back from dinner, the Ravenclaw Common Room had never felt so empty before.

* * *

"Taylor, can I talk to you?"

I paused, my hand resting on the door of the prefects' bathroom. I turned around slowly. It was Holly.

"Hey," I said, attempting a smile. "You were with Tom, weren't you?"

She averted her eyes, and in the light, I could see she had lost some of her colour. "That's just it. We kind of ... err ... broke up. It wasn't really going to work, not on from a romantic angle..." She trailed away, not looking at me.

My stomach twisted in sympathy. He didn't like her as much as she liked him.

"S-so, you're just friends now?"

"Just friends." She bit her lip, ducking her head, looking like she wanted to cry. She looked at me then, trying to brighten up, but I saw her eyes were shining. "Taylor? The two of us are friends, right?"

I nodded a bit shakily, unsure of what she would say.

"Do—" She hesitated. "Do you think he liked me?"

"'Course he did!" I said, half-relieved. "The two of you lasted for so long, didn't you?"

"I guess..." She still looked miserable. I was about to say something, anything, more, when she surprised me by pulling me into a tight hug. "Thanks, Taylor," she said.

When she walked away, she looked a bit brighter, leaving me to stand there and wonder what I'd done.

A few seconds later, I went inside. The shower did me good, the feeling of rain pounding on my taut and stinging muscles. There was silence everywhere, except for the sound of hot water hammering on the floor, and a cloud of steam hissing in my ears.

It was refreshing, and when I stepped out, I saw, to guilty (and pleasant) surprise, there was Tom Riddle, towelling his hair dry.

I said hi, he greeted back, and sitting on the edge of the bathtub, pulling on my socks and shoes, we managed to kindle a conversation.

At length, he said, looking at me with that smile, "Are you free tomorrow?"

I shrugged and said yeah, I was.

"It's a Hogsmeade weekend. Are you going?"

"Why not? Would you like to come with me?"

"I'd love to."

* * *

"I hate this," Tom complained sullenly, flipping his scarf over his shoulder. We stood outside on the snow-splashed street, staring through the misted glass window. Of all times, the Three Broomsticks really had no right to be crammed full when it was raining in winter.

"Maybe Madam Puddifoot's got room in her teashop?" I suggested. "It's mainly for couples and all, and garish too, if it's Valentine's Day, but it's really nice and sombre otherwise."

Tom shrugged, and we went the other way.

Really. Some people have no luck.

The quaint little teashop was just as crowded.

I sighed. "I guess it's the Hog's Head for us— hopefully we'll be able to squeeze ourselves into a table between all of those daytime drunks."

Tom grabbed my hand, and went in. "Let's spare ourselves that, and just share." He wove his way to a table with a blonde Slytherin boy drinking a mug of Butterbeer alone. I followed.

The boy looked up, and his eyes glowered as they fell on me. I glared right back at him, but the precise coldness in his electric-blue eyes unnerved me to the bone.

"Taylor, this is a mate of mine," said Tom cheerfully. "Flavius, meet Taylor."

The boy's mouth curled into a sneer. His eyes on Tom, he took a long drink of Butterbeer, savouring the taste before he spoke, half-derisive, half-laughing.

"You should choose friends more carefully, Riddle. It doesn't reflect well to be seen rubbing shoulders with the Mudbloods."

"The Calviccis are _known_ for purity of their blood, Malfoy," I spat out at him. My fists were so tight that I couldn't feel them anymore. "I expected you to know even that much."

He seemed unconcerned, looking at me with languid grace, his eyes half-lidded, but his mouth still held in that sneer. "Oh, but the _Calviccis_ are. _You are pure Mudblood filth_."

The world slowly froze around me. I was proud. Proud to be one of the Calviccis, noble of heat, pure-white of blood. The earth wasn't moving anymore. The teashop ceased to exist around me. For once there was no Tom.

Just me, and a fibbing Slytherin.

"Watch _it_, Malfoy." I could feel myself trembling, I don't know if he could see it. The anger was making me furious and cold at the same time. "If you don't shut _up_, I'll land you in detention and convince Slughorn to dock points for Slytherin."

And he laughed. He threw back his smooth golden head, and laughed.

"So?" he shot at me. "I still know your little secret. You and your parents, embarrassment to the family name."

One moment his cold, cutting voice was echoing in my ears. The next, all I heard was a sickening crack.

Malfoy's hands were clamped over his nose, blood spilling from between his fingers. His hard blue eyes were wide in shock, horror, and malevolence more fearful than I'd ever seen.

I'd broken his bone.

People were turning around to stare at us, Madam Puddifoot was hurrying over to help Malfoy. They moved away together, her prying apart his fingers to inspect the damage. Everyone had heard us, everyone had seen it. Everyone was too stunned to react.

I glanced down at my own knuckles. They were stained with blood, and stinging. I'd never thought I'd be able to shatter a nose so easily. I'd never hit anyone like that in my whole life.

"Ow," I breathed. Posthumously. I dared a peek at Tom, embarrassed to have hit his friend like that.

He laid a hand on my shoulder, his face expressionless. "Don't worry yourself, Taylor," he said softly.

I bit my lip, Flavius Malfoy's voice ringing even now. Slowly, I nodded.

Even so, I wrote home, asking about Uncle Eric and Aunt Enid."

* * *

**Author's Note**: In case no one remembers them,

" ... Especially not Holmes. They're so terribly boring. My Uncle Eric and Aunt Enid — they're the only Muggles in the family — gave me a stack to read."

I assure you, the Holmes-bashing has been done from an impersonal, **witch's** POV, and is not biased in the least. That's not like I'm saying I **like** Holmes myself, though. (No one beats the Father Brown of "_The Invisible Man_." NO ONE, I say!)


	5. Lies In Her Blood

**Chapter Five **

**Lies In Her Blood **

1943

The reply hit me faster than a Stunner to the chest.

And thrice the weight. I could barely breathe.

"Hey, what happened?"

I raised my head from where it was resting on my knees, my back flattened against the banister of the stairwell that led up to the Astronomy Tower.

It was Tom Riddle.

I opened my mouth, but a choking sob escaped. My eyes were red, dry and stung., parched of tears. I shut them tightly so that Tom wouldn't see.

He sat down beside me, his hands rubbing small circles in my back. "Taylor, what happened?"

"_Malfoy_," I sputtered. "He was right..."

And I couldn't hold it in any longer. The truth poured out like I'd been drinking Veritaserum by the gallons...

I told him everything. I don't think I could have if it had been _any_body else holding me, then, but he was Tom, and he really cared. I told him what Kate Calvicci wrote. And what Mother wrote. The tears broke through their dam, and my shoulders shook.

I could feel Tom's arms around me, holding me closer, until my convulsions could subside.

"Tom," I murmured, my head resting in the crook of his neck. "Will you tell me about your family?"

He was surprised; I could tell. I heard his heartbeat ricochet.

I was about to apologise for it, say he needn't, but then he spoke, and his voice was so mellow, deep, soft and reminiscent that they flowed like water across a stone floor.

"I've always been told by those who knew her, that my mother descended from Salazar Slytherin. To avoid persecution, they had all changed their names. They had chosen to call themselves Tsylerhin. My ancestors were not intellectuals— they could fight, and they had learnt the art of choosing battles.

"I remember my mother's face sometimes. She was very pretty. Long, black hair, and gemstone-like eyes. They often say I look more like her than I could ever look like my father, but I can't say I've ever seen a photograph of him.

"My father, Thomas Riddle, was almost enchanted by her. He was a Muggle, and he'd never heard of magic. My parents were never married, although my mother carried his ring. When she found out she was going to have a child, one with magic in his veins, she told Riddle the truth.

"He left her.

"I don't know, I suppose she could have cursed him to oblivion, for I found out she was a powerful witch, but she hadn't. Maybe because it was what Slytherin would have done. She'd descended from the Tyslerhins. But people always said she loved him too much to throw him in harm's way.

"She's dead now."

"Sorry," I whispered. I couldn't see his eyes, but I saw the tear rolling down his jaw.

"It's alright." His voice was muffled, strangled, but also, faintly hard. Like there was cruel bitterness he couldn't push away no matter how much he'd always tried.

"I envy you," I said absently. The rolled off my tongue. The two of us were in sitting the twilight, lost in a realm between the happiness we thought we'd always have and gripping sadness. "_You are Salazar Slytherin's living heir_ ... purity of blood, and that's priceless..."

"True," murmured Tom, but he added in an attempt to make me feel better, "but magic is so much more so."

He shifted slightly. I moved to look up at him, and his eyes were looking back with a kind of strange, swelling, fiery intensity that I'd never seen before. He leaned forward, tilting his head towards me.

I closed my eyes to shut out those eyes, and Tom's calm, composed presence shimmered in the air beside me once more, now that I couldn't see him. Something was tugging at me, but whatever it was, it broke away and dissipated with the feel of Tom's mouth crashing down on mine...

* * *

My head was reeling, as I staggered back all the way into the Ravenclaw common room. Bridget raised her eyebrows at me, but I went straight to the girls' dormitory, feeling both giddy and slightly sick.

A picture of Kate and Frank Calvicci sat on my dresser. A much littler version of me stood with the, and I heard my voice ringing through my ears s the Hogwarts Express began to slowly leave behind the platform for the first time in my life. "_Bye Mum_,_ bye Dad_, _I'll not forget to write every day_..."

My chest ached as I remembered the letters still shoved into my pocket.

All the pain kept rushing back, almost knocking me off my feet, it hurt me so much; I fell on the bed, my eyes open, blank and staring at the ceiling of the four-poster canopy.

Eric and Enid, I'd always loved my uncle and aunt no matter how, well, eccentric they were. I'd thought they were a tad crazy, working for the Muggle Communication branch in the Ministry. I'd said it to them too, but they'd never said a thing to me. They'd never told me, not even when they knew they were going to die...

Because the Muggle Prime Minister was stupid. He had them both in his employment, thinking they were like him. Non-magical. They were spies, and he was stupid. He was suspicious, and he thought they were political secret agents. Not his men and women who just wanted to ensure he didn't botch things up in between his meetings with _our_ Minister.

My mother had known.

Both my mothers. The biological Enid. And my grandmother Kate. I don't think my mother even held me before she died. My father hadn't stopped at his brother's doorstep for long either; he'd handed me to Frank, and he was gone.

He had to run. For his family. For their lives.

It was in vain. Giving up his only daughter without second look had all been in vain. He'd been hunted down. Eric and Enid had been gunned down dead.

"Taylor?"

I jerked.

"Taylor?" repeated that soft tentative voice. "Can I come in?"

Holly was standing in the doorway to the dark dormitory, looking like she'd been decisive only minutes ago, but was beginning to lose her nerve now.

"Sure," I mumbled.

She came in, and sat down at the foot of my bed. "Bridget told me you were looking under the weather."

"Where is she?"

"Downstairs. She says I should wait a while before disturbing you. Is anything wrong?"

"You should've listened to her."

Holly's expression didn't waver. She knew me too well to know I always regretted snapping at her like this. "What's wrong?" she persisted gently. "You know you can tell us anything. Me and Bridget, we'll always be there if you want to talk."

"Thanks," I said, attempting a smile. I failed miserably.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?" asked Holly.

I thought of the happy, oblivious photographs, the crumpled letters. I was tempted to tell her, because even if she wouldn't understand, she'd be there to comfort me. But something held me back.

My parents had been the stain on the pure bloodline of the Calviccis. It was betrayal to our house let slip something like that.

Blood is always thicker than water.

"It's really nothing," I said. "Come on, I bet we're late for dinner." I stood up, and in the dimness, beamed at her. "_I'm_ totally famished, I'm going to eat— you coming?"


End file.
